The Nightmare King's Daughter
by SharKohen
Summary: He was the head of a prominent Yakuza and she was his petulant, self-righteous adopted daughter. There was little they truly agreed on, yet it couldn't be denied that there was no one else who understood them as much as each other. Modern Gangster/Superhero AU. Companion/Prequel drabble dump to 'More Than A Bird', focusing on Pitch and Elsa's relationship.
1. Monsters

**I really like the idea of Elsa and Pitch being father and daughter, especially in the world of 'More Than A Bird, More Than A Plane (MTAB)', so I ended up writing this drabble, which takes place before the events of MTAB. I might write more such drabbles in the future if I get the inspiration. Why I write them separately from the main story because these probably don't have much relevance to the main story or I can't fit it in.**

 **You don't need to read MTAB to read this. All you need to know are these facts:**

 **1\. It's Modern AU, with Gangster/Superhero elements. In this drabble series, the Superhero part would not that prominent as it focuses on the time Elsa grows up (which is like at 20).**

 **2\. The story takes place in a fictional country called Ameripan, which is a mash of America and Japan. Yes, this is inspired by the movie Big Hero 6. That is why Pitch is the head of a Yakuza (a Japanese crime syndicate) and they live in a town called 'Burgeshima' (Burgess mashed with Hiroshima).**

 **3\. Pitch and Elsa have powers. You might guess where the Superhero element comes in.**

 **4\. MTAB is a Rise of the Brave Tangled Frozen Dragons story, many other Disney/Dreamworks characters crossing over. For this drabble series though, the focus is on Elsa and Pitch, so other crossovers characters are likely not to come in much.**

 **5\. Anna exists. Where is she? To know that, you have to read MTAB. Sorry.**

 **6\. If there's more info you should know before reading the drabble, I'll write it there.**

 **I'll try not to give any major spoilers for MTAB, but if they do turn up, I will flag a warning before the drabble.**

 **For all my effort in writing this, I might just write one drabble in the end. I'm actually busy with settling down in school. Well, enjoy.**

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 **Drabble 1: Monsters**

 **Takes place sometime when Elsa's around 15.**

 **Warning: Some mentions of suicide**

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She was cold.

It was an odd sensation. She usually produced cold. In a matter of fact, she produced it far more than she would have liked. Anyhow, it had been a sensation that she had been so used to creating that experiencing it was a novel sensation.

When she opened her eyes, she found that she was in her room. Clean, fresh duvets had been tucked in around her and her head was propped against a pillow. She tried to push herself off the covers but for some reason, she could not move, only shudder. Exhaustion weighed her bones down, keeping nailed to the bones and she let a wheeze of frustration.

"Stop that," she heard a curt voice slicing through the silence. "You're going to hurt yourself."

She heard the scraping off a chair against the floorboards, followed by steady steps approaching her. A gaunt face came into view, gazing down at her in a manner could only contempt. Yet, instead of shrinking away, she felt an odd sense of comfort with under the golden eyes and as he had instructed, she stopped struggling.

Still with his hands locked behind him, he asked her, "What do you want?"

Swallowing, she realised how dry her throat was. "Water."

Wordlessly, he left the horizons of her vision and suddenly she felt weak and frightened all over again. Where had he gone? It was only when she heard the clink of glass against metal that she managed to steady her heart once again. She closed her eyes, listening to the soft splashes, allowing them to soothe her. She then heard the steps against the floorboards once again, and she opened her eyes again. From the corner of her vision, she noted that he set the glass on the bedside table, before moving over back to the bed.

"You need to sit up," he told her coldly. "You'll spill everything otherwise."

Elsa tried move herself, bending her stiff arms and digging them under her, trying to push herself up, but she didn't have to strength. Sinking back against the mattress, she whimpered, "I can't."

"You can," he contradicted flatly.

She attempted to pull herself up, pushing hard against the covers, messing them up in the process while trying not to press on the tubes buried in her wrists but coming no nearer to her goal than before. "I can't."

"Well, then you're going to die of thirst," was his only reply. He folded his arms, expression bland. "Of course, maybe that's your goal."

She creased her forehead, barely able to croak out, "W-what?"

"I mean,-" he tilted his head towards her, the impassivity breaking a little to reveal anger, only to slide back under a mask in the next moment, "-you did try to kill yourself."

Oh. Now she remembered. The brown liquid. The exchange of money. The false promises. The unexpected dizziness. The collapse.

Before she could so much as protest, she felt him grab her jaw, forcing her to look straight at him. Already, the self-control in his expression was already crumbling by the way his eyes glowed. "Do you remember how my wife died?"

She shook her head.

"She killed herself." He let her go roughly, scraping a nail against her skin as he did, making her wince.

"I wasn't-" she gagged, coughing hollowly at the same time at the dry sensation. She felt his bony hands hook under her armpits, hauling her forcefully up such that she was sitting straight. Of course, she couldn't keep herself up, flopping quite ungracefully backwards again. Fortunately, he was quick to catch her this time, holding her up with one hand and readjusting the pillows behind her. Now she could lean back without falling over. He then moved away to fetch her the glass of water, placing it into her shaking hand, only his grip on her once he was certain that she wouldn't drop it.

She set it against her lips and drank. It was like heaven to her parched throat. She tilted the glass upwards and swallowed more.

"You're not allowed to kill yourself," he went on, taking the glass from her when she had drunken all she could. Already, the liquid at the bottom of the container had frozen, and tiny cracks had begun to appear along its side. Instead of setting it back on the table, he drew his arm back and flung the glass at wall, not even bothering to look as the object exploded into dozens of shimmering fractals. Elsa wasn't overtly worried about it - she knew that he would have it cleaned up later. He turned back to her. His expression was still severe, but it did not appear that he was still infuriated. "I spent too much money trying to bring you up."

"I wasn't trying to kill myself," she insisted more forcefully, now that she had regained her voice.

He peered down at her unbelievingly. "Oh?"

"I didn't know what the drug would do." She met his gaze unflinchingly.

"So you just stuck it into your veins for the fun of it," he said sarcastically, the corners of his thin lips downturned.

"I thought it was something else." She glanced away, pursing her lips together. "It turned out that I was mistaken."

"What did you think it was then?"

Elsa's eyes were trained on her covers. She hadn't noticed it till now, but everything around her was coated in ice. The covers, the paintings, the lamps, even the curtains. Her heart sank. She should have known that it would never work. It was just a lie that she wanted to believe.

She felt him grip her shoulder, fingers like talons against the flesh. "I asked you a question."

She dipped her head down, saying in a low voice, "I thought it could take it away from me." She stared gloomily at the snow-coated room. "All of it."

She dared not meet his gaze. She could already feel his smouldering eyes burning into her skull, and anticipated the crescendo as he screamed, "YOU WHAT?"

He grabbed her by the shoulders, spinning her towards him. Shaking her so hard that the IV rack started to rattle as well. "YOU STUPID, INCONSIDERATE, IRRESPONSIBLE GIRL!" He threw her back so hard that she almost tumbled off the bed. Pacing the room in fury, he grappled for words, balling his fist so tight that his pale skin looked paler than ever. Shadows grew around him, flickering closer and closer around. "Are you - how could you - you - you!" He glowered at her, teeth clenched.

"Is it so wrong to want to be normal?"

Her quiet words cut through his rant, breaking them back into silence. Startled, he checked himself, taking in a breath. The shadows retreated, fleeing the light once more. He gave her a sidelong look, which she dared not to return, merely adjusting her arms such that the tubes on wrist could fit more comfortably.

She felt the bed shift on her side as he sat down, eyes still boring into. She knew that he was trying to read her the way he read other people, but it never worked. Most of the time, she was glad of it. He had such a way of making even the strongest shake, and she was fragile enough to crack at the slightest tremor. Yet, there were times that she wished she could convey her deepest fears to him without needing to courage to confess. She stared down at her hands. The hands, that a single touch, could turn water in ice.

Finally, he spoke, "There's nothing wrong with wanting to be normal, but there is a grave error in trying to escape what you are." When she did not answer, he carried on, voice grave, harsh and grating "No matter how much you want it to go away, it won't. It's your curse and your blessing; your burden and your privilege. It's who you are."

"So that's it then," she murmured bitterly, wrapping her arms around herself. She wished that she could put her gloves back on. She was already freezing up the IV packs. "I'll forever be a monster."

"Don't flatter yourself," her father scoffed, peering at the creeping darkness below his feet, stretching hungrily towards the light. "You're hardly the only one around."

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 **Reviews would be nice.**


	2. Down Like A Dog On The Highway

**Hello! Here's another drabble, and it's much longer than the last! I didn't have a chance to read through it though, so I apologise in advance for all the grammar errors.**

 **Here's somethings you might need to know if you haven't read More Than A Bird (MTAB):**

 **Elsa, in this universe, is a Catholic. If you read MTAB, you might get a hint of why I chose for her to be one. That said, not being a Catholic myself, I apologize in advance for any misrepresentation and errors I make. Oh, Pitch is obviously not a Catholic. Yep.**

 **The boy here is NOT Jack Frost. Where is Jack Frost? Somewhere else – in MTAB. And there are specific reasons why it can't be Jack Frost, anyway.**

 **Remember that this exists in a pseudo-Japanese country, so occasional Japanese terms might pop up. Yakuza facts here are highly inaccurate, by the way, because…fiction.**

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Drabble 2: Down like a Dog on the Highway

Takes place sometime when Elsa's 14-15ish. At least a few months before Drabble 1.

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Going to school had been her own idea. Her father would have preferred her to be educated at home, where he could choose her tutors and hence dictate every fact and opinion she was supposed to internalize. But she had argued, in a polite and gentle manner, that school offered her opportunities to grow in social and communication skills. On whole, she would receive a more holistic education in such an institution than if she was closed up behind the walls of the _shiro_.

These were things Elsa had to remind herself as she trudged through the dreary building that was Roiyaru Burgeshima Academy each day. Her father had gotten to choose the school, so obviously he had picked a private one with heavy right-wing, traditionalistic sentiments. Those who enrolled at this particular institution could also be said to be members of the 'elite', which left her social circle in want of variety.

Of course, everyone around her treated her with a measure of wariness. Cliques that she had been enclosed never seemed very willing and she wasn't invited to more gatherings than necessary. No midnights adventures or sleepovers for her. They always told her politely that their 'lowly activities' were too uncouth and unrefined for a person of her standing, and only 'fools' like themselves could find themselves amused by it. In other words, they didn't want the daughter of such a notorious mobster hanging around them – as if they're own parents didn't have dirt on their own hands.

Perhaps it was for the best. Her 'condition' required her to spend a good deal of time in solitude and it was easier to do so if she didn't have friends pestering her on the phone twenty-four seven. That didn't mean that there weren't some nights went she lie back in the middle of her large, four poster bed and wonder what it was like to have a real friend. A confidant. Someone who she could talk everything about to, like her old parents.

She never spoke of this to her father. If he knew, he would find ways to have the people in the school 'punished' for not meeting her every whim. So when he asked if she was getting along well with the people in school, she would reply that while she enjoyed their companionship, she preferred not to associate too closely with them as to stay focused on her studies. The answer sufficiently acquiesced his curiosity and the very next second he was back to signing death warrants for the offenders of the week.

The idea of a companion, however, did not leave her mind as she found herself gazing longingly at other clusters of girls cooing over images of the hottest boy bands, or the boys who banded together for cricket every afternoon. The more she contemplated it, the more the notion of camaraderie appealed to her. The question was then – who?

It was through her second year of enrollment that she finally found someone who clicked with her. Both of them had run into each other in the library once, when she, having been of smaller stature at the point of time, had been unable to reach for the book on the highest shelf and he had been conveniently present, and enough of a gentleman, to help her with it. She had not dwelled too long on the event itself until they met again.

This time it had been during a string quartet concert at the town's cathedral, a humble little event to raise funds to maintain the old building. She had attended and had been more than willing to dispense more than half of her allowance into the donations box; that had been the best way she had known to use blood money. Perhaps due to her generosity, she had been given the best seat in the house – right in the front. The position made her uncomfortable, especially since she was in clear view of the entire audience as much as the musicians, but she had borne with the uneasiness in smiling silence. Her bodyguards had been stationed at the back of the nave and if she gave the slightest sign of disapproval, adverse consequences would befall the church staff. As long as it was within her ability, she would not let her people be harmed by her father's egotistical need for exert power.

On that rather awkward seat, however, she had discovered that she had recognized the lead violinist in the quartet. By the smile that he had given her, it was obvious that this recognition was mutual. After the concert, which was quite excellent and extremely enjoyable, they had spoken to one another and the rest, some would say, was history.

He was a bright young man from a wealthy, reputable family – well, as reputable as families in a crime-ridden town like Burgeshima got. He was two years her senior, but her bleak childhood had matured her suitably pass her years, so intellectually they were definitely equals. Both had a fondness for classical chamber music, though he had admitted that he enjoyed the occasional modern remix of such. He was also quite well-versed in matters philosophy and sociology, which was quite different from the family business he was expected to follow into. His knowledge in theoretical ethics and the fact that both of them attended the same church made it convenient for them to discuss moral matters in the context of their faith. Elsa found that it was much easier to share with him the burdens of her heart than anyone else she knew, even her priest, and his answer often set to ease her troubles.

"Familial crimes are not inherited, Elsa," he had told her once as during one of their conversations, strolling down the streets with her bodyguards trailing them a mere thirty feet away. "His decisions are what caused these evils, not yours. We don't get to choose our families, after all." His eyes were trained forward when he said, looking almost hatefully into the distance.

It was then that she had first timidly laced her gloved hand into his, and to her surprise, she didn't turn him into a block of ice.

Of course, her father came to know about the young man who she had been 'going on walks' with. After all, little went on in Burgeshima without him knowing about it. Her companion's background had been thoroughly researched and it was found that he had no evident affiliation with rival gangs and his family had not committed recent offenses against the Nightmare Yakuza. Though he lacked the traditional Japanese upbringing that her father would prefer, there was no real reason why she should not continue being in the company of this young man, so in his company she stayed.

It was freeing to be with someone who thought so much like her, who believed in what she believed in and most importantly, accepted her despite her familial connections. Not to mention, he was also very pleasant and even humorous at times. Elsa found herself smiling in a way that she had never smiled since she was eight. She was happy.

Obviously, when he asked her to be his girlfriend, she almost immediately said yes.

'Almost immediately', because she had to ask for her father's approval first. The last thing she wanted to happen was her father to suddenly discover that his daughter was in a committed relationship without consulting him first and sending someone to chop her newly acquired boyfriend's head off.

Boyfriend. She liked the sound of it. She liked what it implied.

And as a boyfriend, he certainly delivered. Dates were never too lavish to be artificial, but never too simple to be insincere. Gifts were granted according to preference and only after observation. He respected her entirely and never made her do anything that she wanted to do. Communication between them was always straightforward and clear, with no fear of asking for clarification and no chance of misunderstanding. He was all she could possibly ask for as the truest companion and there was no doubt that if there was anyone she could trust, it'd be him.

So one day, while on a picnic by the sea, they were discussing secrets.

"-and yes, I collected them till I was, like, fifteen. It was a terrible obsession – a little too expensive too, but what can I say? Superheroes fascinated me," he said in a laughing manner. He nodded at her, before biting into his sandwich. "What about you?"

She paused, looking down at her gloved hands. When he had first asked why she wore them, she had said that she had 'a thing about dirt'. If there was anytime she was going to tell him the truth, it would be now.

So she took one of her gloves off and asked him with a trembling voice, "Do you mind pouring me something?"

Noting the seriousness of her expression, he had then then sat himself up straight, examining her in a puzzled manner. With a nod, he did as she had asked, pouring some juice into her own cup. He then placed it in her bare hand. The minute her fingers touched the plastic surface ice curled around it, stretching the white claws around sides and climbing up the rim, engulfing the base and hardening the liquid.

He jerked back in shock and she winced. Perhaps this was a mistake.

But after getting over the initial surface, he leaned forward, tilting his head slightly to examine the object, murmuring, "Fascinating." He glanced up at her with an amused expression. "So, have you always been a closet cryokinetic?"

After that, everything was okay.

For a while.

It came to the time when he prepared to enter college. It was considered a little early for his age, but he was smart enough to try it, and he definitely wanted it – she knew by the way he talked about it. Unfortunately, the college that he had picked was out of state. Visiting would be difficult and long-distance relationships didn't have the best reputation, which was why she thought of the perfect solution.

"I'll go with you," Elsa told him. "I'm sure there's a high school I can enrol down there. And after graduate, I can study there too."

Her father was the first to object to this. She was still too young to be living out of his supervision, but rationally, she knew that she was mature enough to look after herself. Expenses was not a problem. She did the research on the accommodations and possible schools. She even found appropriate members of her father's faction who were willing to be her guardians on the other side. There was no logical reason on why she couldn't go. Her father, after much grudging thought, granted his permission but not his approval.

When she presented this to her boyfriend though, he was hesitant. He argued with her about it – the cost, the time, the requirement to build a new social circle, a new environment. He even pointed out that being placed in a foreign place might be a strain on her emotions, which might eventually lead to her losing control of her powers. Despite the reasons, she was unmoved. She was determined to do what was necessary to maintain the relationship.

So it was then he sighed, and finally confessed, "Elsa, I don't actually like you."

She was taken aback.

He explained hastily, "Not that I haven't enjoyed your company – because I really have. You're smart and amazing and beautiful, and I tried to like you, but I don't. Romantically, at least."

She went quiet for a good long moment. Both her gloved hands were clenched under the table as she asked him, slowly, "Why did you even ask me, then? Why the charade? Why even drag it this long?"

He glanced around them first, before saying in a low, voice, as if ashamed, "I was told to. They implied I didn't have a choice."

She didn't really need to guess who 'they' were. After all, he had been checking to see if her bodyguards, whose were all loyal members of the Yakuza, had been listening.

Call her cold-blooded because of her powers, if you want, but at that moment, her blood was boiling. _Her father_ , once again interfering with her life, calling the shots, making all the decisions such that it favoured his diabolical schemes. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had hoped that she would marry into wealth one day so that she could kill the husband and steal the inheritance.

"I don't want inconvenience you this much for something that isn't real," he told her plainly, trying to be as kind as possible. "It wouldn't be fair to you."

It was like a stab in her heart - it wasn't real. She didn't have a real friend, and certainly not a real boyfriend. She should have known. She should have never believed. How could someone like _her_ ever have a genuine relationship with another?

"We should break up," Elsa finally said, which made him lift his brows in shock. She didn't know why he seemed surprised about it – what other reaction could she have after such a revelation? "There's no point carrying this on. Relationships should be based on mutual consent-" Her lips quivered in both fury and bitterness "-not threats."

No words were exchanged for another bout of quiet, till he broke it at last, "You're really nothing like him. You're a good person, Elsa."

She gave a wry smile, because that's all she could offer.

After the Porche had arrived to send her home, he did ask, "You sure you'll be okay?"

She nodded, even if it was a lie. She had to make sure that it looked like this hadn't affected her in the slightest.

"We can still be friends," he said, appearing a little guilty. She also noticed he seemed, too, nervous about another matter. By how his eyes kept flitting to her bodyguards, who were getting on the motorbikes that were to follow her own ride, it was only too obvious what was on his mind.

She allowed herself a watery smile. A platonic companion would be better than nothing, though she hated how normal 'friend' alone sounded now. She wished she had never believed otherwise.

Feeling the ice burning under her gloves, she quickly hid them behind her back before she said, "I rather hope we would."

"Great. I'll write when I get there. I promise." He beamed, but he was still glancing warily at her father's footsoldiers, who after strapping on their helmets slung their MP7s behind them, within easy reach.

So she told him, "I'll speak to my father about this. Don't worry. I'll let him know that it was my decision."

He nodded gratefully.

Her attendants open the door for her, and she slipped onto the smooth leather seats and said her chauffeur impassively, "Home, please."

He waved through the window as the car began to drive off. From the rear view mirror, she could see that the taxi had called for himself earlier had also arrived. She kept watch over the guards who followed her own car, making sure that none of them took any unexplained 'detours'. She kept her focus on this task, trying desperately not to feel.

Once they drew up to massive _shiro_ – the big, black castle that was the centre of Burgeshima's most powerful crime syndicate - she was only too happy to be freed from her metal prison, running up the steps in haste. Her speed alarmed her attendants, who struggled to keep up with her as the ground below them began to gleam and shimmer white. Doors were quickly swung open for her and she dashed through the grand halls and the decorated corridors, ignoring the elaborately designed courtyards. People around her either stepped forward in concern or shrouded back into fear, but that only made her feel more wretched. Apparently, fear was the only genuine emotion she could possibly stir in the hearts of another. What else did she expect? Her father was a criminal – no, a tyrant – and in the eyes of others who didn't know otherwise, she was nothing but his hellish spawn.

"Father! We need to talk!" she called as she hurried at the stairs. In her current state of mind, it would be too dangerous to take the lift. Emotions that had been usually held within a tight grip manifested into ice pouring and surging everywhere. Her teeth were clenched together, as were her hands. "FATHER!"

"He's not home, Ms. Black," a voice quietly spoke to her after she had rushed up to the third floor.

"What?" she panted, both from rage and exhaustion.

"The _Kumicho-sama_ has gone out tonight to attend a very important meeting," this person, whom she recognized to be one of her father's secretaries, gave her a bow as she reported this news to her. "He will not be home until very late. It would be best perhaps to see him tomorrow."

Elsa bit her lip. She supposed she could give him a call, but such an act would be highly disrespectful, especially if it was a meeting. Moreover, she needed a face to face confrontation with him. If it was a battle of words alone, he would win. He was much better at talking than her, and he enjoyed doing so in a condensing, mocking manner. "Well, I'll wait for him to return then."

"Miss, this is really not advised," the secretary insisted, shaking her head even as her body was crooked to a bowing position. "The meeting's far on the other side of the city and is very important. It will be very, very late."

"I'm _going_ to wait for him," the girl insisted, as a shower of snow began pattering from the ceiling. "So please," she let out an exhale, trying to sound at least a little civil, "get me a chair."

So as she demanded, a chair was brought to her and she sat outside her father's office, waiting. Hour after hour passed, and attendants came by to offer tea and snacks, which she accepted. She tried to use the time to collect her emotions, but in truth, she felt miserable and angered. She had been deceived. She had been conned. The bitter part was that she thought she was really improving, in terms of controlling her ice and her relationships with normal people. With her emotions stable enough as not to spout ice out every second and her temperament merry, she had been ready to fly off with some boy who never liked her as much as she liked him. She was a fool.

And _her_ father - he knew this whole time. Not only that, he had been the mastermind behind it himself.

As livid as she was, Elsa knew that she had to put a cap on the snow. Already, all the attendants were shivering with every step that they took, and no doubt there was probably a raging storm happening somewhere in the castle. So she took deep breaths, and try to remember the mantra she had chanted as a child - _"Conceal. Don't feel. Don't feel."_

Because clearly, feelings were overrated. Young love was overrated.

Despite her determination, she did fall asleep, and when she awoke, it was mid-morning. Her attendants had transferred her back to her bed after she had worn herself out. As they came to bring her breakfast, she quickly inquired after her father, only to discover that he had already returned to the _shiro_ but had left again for another errand an hour ago – an hour which she had slept right through. Aghast at what had occurred, Elsa quickly transferred herself back to the chair had sat in through the night and now sat in it through the morning, as well as the afternoon.

Her father only returned at evening later and he seemed unusually blithe – probably just axed a few rebellious clusters in the Yakuza or something. That always cheered him up. When he saw her seated, his gold eyes danced in interest. "Well, well, to what do I owe the pleasure of my darling daughter's company?"

"Father," she said, raising to her feet and bowing, trying not to seethe at his patronising tone, "I would like very much to talk to you."

He let out a sigh. "Yes, I suppose you would." Rolling his eyes heavenward, he gestured towards his office door. "C'mon."

The minute the sliding door was closed behind them in the office, Elsa opened her mouth to speak, but her father got it first, "Well, I suppose there are only two things you could be here to harp about. One is how I'm an evil person and I'm clearly going to burn in hell."

"You are," she said without even bothering to think it.

"Well, anything's better than living," he answered with a shrug. "The second thing you could be here about is your ex."

"Yes, I'm here about-" she broke herself off when she realized what he had said. "How did you know we broke up?"

"I know everything that happens in this city, Elsa," her father said in a plaintive manner, as if he told her this a million times before. "Besides, I don't know why you're still fussing over the matter. I've already taken care of him."

"I'm not here about that. I'm here to ask-" she stopped herself short once more. Her eyes went wide. "What do you 'taken care of him'?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." He shot her a quizzical expression, thumbing behind him. "Didn't you read the news this morning?"

She stared at him, before tearing out of the room.

"Close the door on your way out!" her father called to her as she dashed down the corridor, dread pooling in stomach.

She went straight to the administration offices, where she knew there were always newspapers brought it for the workers there to read. She picked up one of the stacks and hurriedly unfolded it. Turning a few pages, she found the relevant article. The photographed scene made her lurched back and her hand flew over her mouth. She scanned the words quickly, praying desperately that the bloodied body medics had lifted from the gutter was not who she thought it was, but the name confirmed everything. The report stated that the attackers were 'unidentified', but the mention of rice paper bearing the words ' _meibatsu_ ' was all she needed for a confirmation.

Rage oozed out in the form of snow and when she dashed back to her father's office, a trail of white followed her steps. Usual protocol was tossed aside as she pushed back the door and shot in, screaming at him, "HOW COULD YOU?"

He was seated at his desk reading something, completely undaunted by her display. He waved at the door with looking up. "Elsa, you're letting a draft into the office."

"You knew I liked him, didn't you?" she hissed, stomping nearer towards his desk. There were cracks of ice appearing on the ground below her and the still air in the office was starting to move in a swirling movement. "Didn't you!"

Her father sighed. "Great. Now you're _making_ a draft. Brilliant."

"HOW COULD YOU?" She slammed a hand against the table. Even with the gloves on, ice had started to leak out flooding the table with white, freezing his papers to the surface.

"ELSA BLACK!" The bored expression suddenly slipped and his voice was deep at terrible. He had risen to his full height, and against her own small stature, he seemed to be towering over her. His pale features suddenly turned a deathly shade of grey and his gold eyes glowed. The colors of evening sunset was drowned out by the sudden darkness that enveloped the office. "IF YOU DO NOT HOLD YOUR TEMPER RIGHT NOW, I SWEAR I WILL DO MUCH WORSE!"

In shock, she backed away. The ice suddenly ceased it growth, even seemed to shrink back a little in the presence of the looming shadows. Against her will, she found herself shaking under his terrible glare, which appeared to be on the border of ripping her to shreds.

But then, her father let out a tight exhale, and the shadows scattered. He sank himself back into his chair and gazed up at her. Elsa tried to stay expressionless, but even if he couldn't see in her mind as he could with others, her quivering shoulders gave away everything.

Finally, he leaned himself back and began to explain, "After you started going on 'walks' with your special, little friend, I had him checked up. When that turned up clean – well, as clean as it goes-" her father amended while flicking a stray black grain off his fingers "-I had a talk with the boy. Of course, I took a look into his head and my, my, my-" he shook his head emphatically "-his fears were pathetic. I never seen such a coward in my entire life! Did you know that he only hung around you because of money? I'm not joking," he added in response to her skeptical expression. "Apparently, your so-called 'Prince Charming' had some family trouble concerning insecure finance pools, so his plan was to charm it all out of you."

"You're lying," she told him flatly.

"Would I do that?" he said in a mockingly hurt expression.

"Yes. And you wouldn't have let me date him if that was the case." Elsa folded her arms, hardening her jaw. She didn't want to believe that the conversations, the company, the connection were truly worth nothing. She wouldn't believe. There had to be something - just a little something that could be salvaged from this.

"I suppose you're right," he conceded with a thoughtful expression. "Except for _one minor detail,-_ "he tapped his slender, claw-like fingers against the table "-perhaps I did what I did because I cared about your happiness. "

"You don't," she contradicted.

"You're my daughter, of course," he scoffed at her. "Of course, I do. You were lonely. You wanted a friend. So _voila!_ " He waved a hand about slightly for flourish. "You have a friend. You started to like the friend as more than a friend, so _voila!_ That friend became your boyfriend. Of course, once he outlived his usefulness, it was best to dispose of him. After all-" he narrowed his eyes at her, grave all of a sudden "-the dead spill no secrets."

Elsa drew in a sharp breath. She glanced down at the gloves, which now were covered completely in ice, failing their intended purpose. She lifted her head to her father, whose nodded her at her knowingly.

"Unless you want a mob lined up outside our door tomorrow, I suggest you don't tell every sweetheart you have about your powers," he said in an amicably condescending tone. "Not that a mob would be a huge problem since I could probably, well, -" her father made an exaggerated shrug "-just kill all of them, I suppose."

And just like that, the fight in her was drained. Unshed tears still hovered behind her lids, and she had no idea if she should weep about having no real reason to weep.

"Well, go on then." He waved at the doorway. "And for goodness' sake, close the door."

Subdued, Elsa dragged herself towards the gap in the walls, feeling hollow and horrified. She didn't know if she still felt mad, or betrayed, or sorrowful, or bitter. She did know, however, that she would have much rather bury all them and feel nothing.

Nothing. That sounded nice. Feeling nothing.

"Elsa," her father's voice rang behind her. She halted her steps and reluctantly spun about to face him. His expression seemed to be thoughtful, maybe even a little regretful. "Perhaps I shouldn't have gone about it in such manner, and maybe – just maybe – I should have taken your feelings into consideration." He pressed his fingers together, contemplating in silence.

Then he said to her with a wane smile, "I suppose I should have killed him the first time I met him, don't you think?"

~~~0~~~

 **If any MTAB reader remembers, Elsa's POV in Chapter 2 mentions that she once had a boyfriend. I've always wanted to expand how it happened, but it's not quite relevant to the main story (yet?) so…side drabble!**

 **Oh, 'meibatsu' means 'divine revenge' in Japanese.**

 **Guest Mailbox:**

 **Guest (Aug 11): Thank you! I do like Pitch a great deal. I doubt that in the start, he probably had troubles with his own powers, and that's a really good question – did Pitch here and in the movies ever have a chance to choose his own role?**

 **Fan (Aug 15): Thank you! I hope to continue them to so… here's one!**

 **Reviews would be appreciated.**


	3. Nightmares and Night-mares

Drabble 3: Nightmares and Night-mares

When Elsa is around ten.

NOTE: Contains slight spoilers for More Than A Bird concerning how Pitch had come to adopt Elsa at Chapter 15. If you don't want to spoil yourself, then just give this one a miss. If you do want to spoil yourself, well, then just read the first section of Chapter 15.

~~~0~~~

At a quarter to midnight, the _shiro_ was covered with an unearthly stillness. It wasn't to say that it was asleep, for the many of its floors were at the moment still dedicated to answering calls, sending _kumi-in_ to respond to distress situations – whatever kind of distress that might be - and to schedule the _Kumicho's_ itinerary for the following day.

She wasn't aware of such activities occurring around her. In a matter of fact, she had only recently taken residence in this grand building that was built in the style of a 16th Century Japanese castle, complete with gardens, running palisades and watch towers. Even if she did know of such happenings, she may not have complete understood them. She was but a child, after all, feeling rather lost and alone in this very, very dark place.

The young girl with platinum blonde hair and sapphire-blue eyes treaded the lantern-lit corridor with trepidation. She had only gone this road before when the sun rays filtered through the curtains and her steps, hesitant and unsure, did not echo so loudly against the wooden boards. The slippers and robe that she loaned for her stay made her feel oddly vulnerable, for fabric and wooden soles were no armor against the creatures that might spring from the shadows. Not that those were the kind of things that she often had nightmares about.

At last, she arrived at her destination. Timidly, she approached the wooden door and raised her hand to knock. At that moment, a memory stirred her mind, one associated with fear and regret, where a small voice would call for her through the wooden panels only to receive silence in return. This was one made the little girl hesitate, but nonetheless, she balled up the gloved hand and rapped against the wood.

"Enter," she heard a chilling voice hiss from behind.

She slid the wooden door open, letting the handle go as soon as she could. She had managed to keep her ice in thus far, but she still preferred not to touch anything if she could.

"You're letting a draft in," the cool tone said as she stepped in. "Close that door, won't you?"

Meekly, she obeyed the command and pulled the door. Then, straightening out her _yukata_ , she turned herself around and began shuffling forward. She kept her head down as she approached the table in the far left corner of the room, where its owner was knelt. He worked with only the light of a candle, though the girl was sure he could have asked for brighter electrical lighting if he had wanted. But over the course of her residence here, she had come to realize that the master of the castle much preferred darkness and perhaps that might explain the gloominess that permeated throughout it.

As she stopped at the table, she lifted her head with hands clasped together, waiting expectantly to catch his eye. He seemed quite preoccupied with his own task at the moment though, which involved dipping his long wooden brush into the ink well before blotting more colors onto the wooden block.

Then he said, "Well, if you're just going to stand there and stare, you might as well bow while you're at it."

She flinched at his cutting tone, but then, maybe this was one of the many customs that she had yet to completely understand in this big, frightening new place. Flushing slightly, she dropped her hands to her side and prepared to bow, only to be stopped by his interruption – "Arms folded in front of you, above the hip. Were you raised by barbarians?"

That remark instantly searing and it struck an indignant chord in her heart. She had not always been happy with her parents' decisions about her life, but she did trust that they loved her and they wanted what was best for her. The insult was unwarranted. In a matter of fact, it was especially unwarranted from one who had never met the people who had raised her.

Yet wisdom guarded her tongue from offending her terrifying benefactor – who, for all his creepiness, had saved her life. He showed no fear to her ability, and from the little that she had seen, he possessed certain extraordinary capability of his owns.

So she bowed with her hands folded in front of her, a full ninety degrees as she had seen people in the household do whenever they see her.

"Sit," he told her, jerking his head slightly to the mat across the table. So, slowly, she kneeled herself down on the cushion, keeping her head slightly bent forward in what she hoped was a respectful manner. This meant that her eyes were stuck on the wooden block that he had in front of him. The block was carved with beautiful grooves and curves, or swirled shapes and figures that while aesthetically-pleasing appeared incoherent.

Before she could stop herself, curiosity prompted her to ask, "What's that?" Realizing her mistake, she hastily added, "But only if you want to explain, sir."

"A printing block," he answered, still not looking at her as he picked up another brush now, one as large as his palm that reminded her of a floor scrub, and began to rub it against the wooden block in rough circles, spreading the black paint even over the grooves. "It's a dying art – more painful in its preparation than its execution."

"Oh," she said, timidly, wringing her hands together, watching as him as he worked. "Then you made it yourself?"

"Yes," he said, setting down the brush. "I'm bored, wealthy, old man, my dear girl. I need to do something to past the time." He lifted the thin sheet that he had prepared early and with his nimble fingers – fingers that she had thought resembled claws the first time she had seen them – lay it gently over the block. "But I doubt your interest in the aesthetics is what draws you here tonight." "Clearly, something's on your mind."

Unwillingly, yet knowing eventually she would have to admit it, she nodded.

"Well, what might that be? Have you been treated well?"

To that she nodded fervently. The servants of the dark castle had been efficient in meeting whatever little requests she might have, and they were always terrible considerate; like drawing baths for her, bringing her meals and giving her as more gloves than she had asked for. She had to admit, most of them never really talked to her the way her old housemaid, Gerda, would talk to her. It was always about making sure that her needs were met and that she was comfortable and whether there was anything else she wanted. All this pampering was actually a little too much than she was used to and she had begun asking to be left alone more and more. Her powers did not do well around people.

He took a round disc-like object by the handle attached to the back of it and pressed it down on the paper, rubbing it in circles against the wooden block. "Are you lodgings satisfactory?"

She nodded. The room that she had been provided was bigger than any room she had ever seen, with four long posters and delicate silk curtains. The large windows also gave her an excellent view of the city beyond the castle and the starry skies above. Of course, she laced it in ice so often that she had forgotten what it had looked like without the frost.

He peeled the sheet up from the block, gently as to prevent the paint from smudging. Now, she could see the printing on the sheet – black curves and shades that illustrated horses dashing through a dark forest. "Do you have enough to eat and wear?"

She nodded, then swallowed, then said, "Yes, sir, I have everything I need, but-I just-" she twisted her fingers against one another "-I've been having _nightmares_."

For the first time since she entered, he looked up her. She hadn't seen him that frequently in the past few days, but she could have sworn he looked even more severe than before. There was something about the thinness of his lips and the sharpness of his jaw that reminded her of the criminals and the terrorists that they always talked about in news television. Yet, he did save her life.

One of his brows arched upwards. "Well, I can tell you safely that I'm not responsible for those." "What do you dream about?"

Her voice was small. "The hotel."

He lifted his head up at her and she felt like he was urging her to continue.

"I dream of screams, sir, and I see blood – a lot of blood." She shuddered at the memory. "And I see people glaring at me, and hating me, like they want to kill me."

"That is probably true." His interjection was smooth and emotionless. She jerked her head up at him, eyes wide as he went on, "Think about it. If I knew that you were responsible for the death of someone I loved dearly, I would stop at nothing to make sure that you were brought to justice." There was a tint of vindictiveness in his voice, one that made her wonder if he was thinking of something else.

Her heart was pounding behind her chest as she stared down at herself in horror. She replayed the scene in her head, both from reality and the dreams, and each time she did, a sickened sensation ran up her throat. She then gazed up him, fear gripping her soul. She stuttered, "A-a-are you going to tell the police?"

He stared at her for a moment, and then suddenly, he laughed. It was hearty, yet sardonic; mirthful, yet broken. He said to her, leaning back with an amused smile rising to his lips, "Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm a monster, sir. I've done terrible things, and the police has to put me in a special jail away from the world…," her voice trailed off as he started cackling again.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said after another guffaw. "Oh, my, but – it's just that, well, I haven't anything quite as hilarious before. Who told you such stories?"

Her voice was barely a whisper. "My parents."

His laughter ceased. His expression suddenly turned grave as he turned to her. "So they did, didn't they?"

Not wanting him to think ill of her parents any more, she defended them, "They didn't want people to take me away."

"So you left them on your own accord. How fitting," he murmured with a snicker, but it was void of any humor.

"No, I-" she broke off. Until now. It had never really struck her the severity of her choices. She had run away from home! Her parents would be devastated! They would think that she died. A lump from in her throat. She was not just a terrible person, but too a terrible daughter.

She was at the age where crying was considered babyish and un-grown up, but she couldn't help the tears that tumbled down her cheeks and a sob escaped her lips. She quickly ducked her head down and wiped the tears on the sleeve of her yukata, but the whimpers, she could not hold back.

She heard him groan and it made her feel worse than ever. "Oh, come, what is it now?"

"I-I-I'm, I'm a wic-wicked girl, sir," she sobbed out into her palms quite unable to stop her own tirade. "I'm a wicked, wicked girl, sir." She felt the ground below her starting to turn cold. Vines of frost began to grow below her, turning the marble tiles blue and white. She got to her feet quickly, trying to dry her tears. Getting up to her feet, ready to flee, she bowed and blubbered, "I'm s-s-sorry, sir, so so sorry, sir. I'll-I'll try to stop." She squeezed her eyes shut, then stared up to the ceiling. Clawing against her own gloved palms, she chanted to herself, " _Conceal, don't feel. Don't feel._ Please, please, j-just don't feel-"

She hadn't known that he had moved until she felt him grab her hand. She stood stark still, stunned by the action so much so that the ice trailing the ground halted its growth.

By her side, standing up, he seemed even more enormous. The black of his robes seemed to hold the very shadows of the night in them, and the pallor of his face reminded her of the still, stiff bodies that one might see at funerals. Yet, there was an odd gentleness in his actions as he slowly removed the glove on her hand and cupped the back of it with his own bony one. Trembling and unsure, her hand still glowed, sprouting sparks of white in the air and a swirl of snow rise from it. She saw him stare down at the odd speck of light that arose, before his own hands curled around hers in a way that was almost painful.

Then, she saw his golden eyes narrow together, and the swirl of white was suddenly joined with a symmetrical one in black – spinning grains of black weaving around the whiteShe tried to pull back, making the swirls jerk about, exploding into little blobs of cold.

"You panic too much," she heard him grumble. She felt him pressed against her joints, trying to loosen out her fingers. "Stop that."

She stiffened and didn't move. "Sorry, sir."

"Stop calling me that too," he muttered he flexed out her fingers. "It's annoying."

"Sorry, s-" she checked herself. In that moment, she was distracted by as the fragment of ice in the air merged with that of the shadow sand, dancing in the air a manner both wild yet fascinating. Together, they fused the form a binary twirl, twisted around one another like a vine and stretching out into a series of crystalline spikes, shimmering and glowing.

And then with a soft 'phink!', the structure disintegrated, making her jump back slightly until she saw what was became of the blackish crystals. They curled in the air, up against the panes of the window, flittering and swimming before joining together. She gasped as she saw the horses in the air come to life, tiny black creatures with streams of white sparkles by their hooves and hair made of silver of threads.

She watched in wonder as the miniature corral raced around her, snorting and beating against the air as if they were indeed alive. As she reached her free hand towards one of the horses, it turned white and into solid, unmoving crystal. She withdrew her hand at once, horrified that she had destroyed something so lovely. But then, he stretched his own free hand out and adding a string of black grains to the frosted structure.

The mare returned back into life, this time pure white save the black sand that formed its hair. It slowed its gallop into a slow trot, before stopping right in front of her. The white creature, with eyes blue beyond anything she had ever seen, considered her in a manner that could be said to be curious, before stomping its hooves on the imaginary ground joining the rest of the corral. Together, the horses merged into a bundle of silvery energy, stretching out in length and shot across the room like a comet, before exploding with a small peal, bursting out to create shining dots above her like constellations in the sky. In a matter of fact, some of the images looking extremely similar to the real patterns in the stars. Then, with a flick of his hand, they all dissolved into shadows once again.

"Control is not the same as suppression," she heard him say. "But then again, I don't expect people who do not understand to know the difference."

She looked up at him questioningly.

"I don't doubt that your parents mean well, but it doesn't change the fact that they're acting on ignorance," he said as he let go of her hand, picking up the glove that he had discarded on the table.

She scrunched her face as she fit the glove back. "My parents don't ignore me."

"That's not what 'ignorance' means," he sneered, a distasteful expression on his countenance. But it turned pensive as he turned to her once again. "'Ignorance' refers to the lack of knowledge, or 'know-how' in the case of your parents, due to the lack of experience." He raised a hand again, forming in the air a spiral shape from the shadows, which morphed itself into a swirl and then into pyramid, then ran around his fingers like a ribbon. "Not like me, I suppose."

"I suppose," she echoed quietly, folding her hands once again towards herself. The tears that had been falling had long dried itself up, stiffened on her face.

Somehow, they had ended up by the window of his office, which like her room overlooked the entire city and the starry universe woven above it. Both of them watched it in content silence, side by side.

Finally, he told her, "You can go back whenever you like. I told you that on the first day we met. The offer still stands."

She hesitated. She missed home, but she knew that he was right in saying that her parents didn't really know how to help her. They loved her, but they couldn't help her.

"However, as long as you're here, I can assure you that no one would take you away – the police or otherwise." There was a slight twinkle in his gold of his eyes – perhaps it was teasing? "That, I can promise you with utmost certainty."

She wasn't sure how _[he]_ felt about her, but she knew if there was anyone that could help her, it would be someone like him. Who was someone like her.

"Could you teach me, sir?" she asked him.

"What did I tell you just now?" he chided, sounding a little annoyed, but from his reflection on the glass he didn't look it.

"Sorry, but-" she bit her lip. It occurred to her that in all her time here, she never really knew his name and he didn't know hers "-what should I call you?"

"Well, you can't call me 'Kumicho-sama', since you're not one of us – _not yet_ , anyway," he murmured. She didn't quite understand what he meant by 'us' or 'not yet', but she didn't inquire into it, lest it'd be impolite. He rubbed his chin as he pondered, then he said, "Perhaps for now you can call me Pitch, I suppose."

"Pitch," she repeated after him. She then drew herself away a little, realizing that being too close might be considered impolite. "Thank you, Mr. Pitch."

He waved a hand at her, which she supposed was a gesture of dismissal, so bowing again, she turned to leave.

"Wait," she heard him say. She halted her steps and spun around to face him. "What's your name, child?"

"Elizabeth, Mr. Pitch," she answered, making a little curtsey as she did the way her mother trained her. "Elizabeth Catherine Arendelle."

"I see." He nodded slowly, before giving her a wane smile. "Good night, my dear. Sweet dreams."

She noted that night that she had no nightmares, though in the future they returned with greater force and strength on other matters. She also noted much later that he had never addressed her by her birth name.

 **~~~0~~~**

 **Japanese Terms (I admit, my use of them maybe inaccurate):**

 _Kumi-in – Foot-soldiers of a Yakuza_

 _Kumicho – The 'Godfather' of a Yakuza. (Where 'Godfather' is the chief patriarch of a Mafia)_

 _Kumicho-sama – A respectful way to address the Godfather in speech_

 _Shiro – Castle_

 _Yukata – Form of traditional Japanese dress that is less formal than a Kimono. Consist a loose long-sleeved robe held together by a cloth belt._

 **This piece could almost be considered fluffy. Urgh.**

 **At this point of time, Elsa is not really aware of who Pitch is, how he earned his wealth, or why he lives in a fortified castle, or the Nightmare Yakuza's existence. She's just a kid.**

 **More Spoilers below (but if you read this far after what I wrote on top, you must have either be updated on the MTAB storyline or you must be spoiling yourself): It's implied that this probably happened a few weeks after the collapse of the Black Raven Hotel (which was caused by Elsa), which is why she's still pretty guilt ridden about the whole thing and why she refers to Pitch as her 'rescuer'.**

 **Okay, spoilers over.**

 **The thing that Pitch is doing woodblock printing, a kind of Japanese traditional art. One famous such painting is 'The Great Wave of Kanagawa', 18** **th** **Century. Usually, a multicolored painting would require more than one block, but I think Pitch only works in one color…guess which.**

 **Thanks for reading. Leave a review if you've enjoyed it or if you'd like more (or both. Whatever.) Prompts will also be considered.**


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